


like a lit match

by larkscape



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cock Warming, Lap Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Naked/Clothed, Praise Kink, gentle dom Shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 12:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19946152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larkscape/pseuds/larkscape
Summary: “I have a job for you,” Shiro says as Lance rounds the desk. He turns his chair, gesturing to his lap where his uniform pants now sit open and his soft cock rests on his thigh, bared by the the jacket hem that’s been tucked up out of the way. Heat spikes through Lance at the sight. How can a cock be sopretty?Fuck, he wants it, wants it anywhere Shiro will give it to him.Shiro fixes him with a knowing look. “I need you to keep this warm while I finish going over these forms. Think you can do that for me?”Lance's day hasn't been great, but the evening is looking up.





	like a lit match

“Hey, Shiro,” Lance says softly, poking his head around the door of Shiro’s office.

It’s late, but of course Shiro is still here, poring over logs and charts and requisition forms for the Atlas like he can personally fix all the ills of the universe if he just does his job hard enough. Lance had hoped that being back on Earth with the collective manpower of the Garrison behind him would help a little with the obsessive workaholic thing, but no. Of course not. The loosened collar of his captain’s jacket appears to be Shiro’s only concession to the hour.

Not that Lance has any room to talk; he’s still in uniform, too. This has been one hell of a day and he is more than ready for it to be over. He feels worn paper-thin.

“Lance?” Shiro asks, his head coming up. “What are you— oh.”

There’s a part of Lance that’s a little annoyed about how transparent he apparently is, but the rest of him is just happy that he doesn’t have to explain himself right now; Shiro can see it on him, can always tell when he’s running on fumes and needs to get out of his head for a while.

Doesn’t hurt that it helps Shiro switch off work mode for once, too. This visit isn’t  _ entirely _ selfish.

He slips the rest of the way inside and shuts the door, then leans against it.

“That kind of day?” Shiro asks quietly.

Shiro sees it, yes, but he still wants confirmation. Lance nods. “Sorry, I know you’re busy.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m glad you came to me.” Shiro lets out a low chuckle. “Honestly, I could use the distraction, too, but I’ve still got a ways to go before I can be done for the night. ...Hmm. Okay.” He readjusts in his chair, one arm disappearing from view, before his expression firms. Then, in a slightly deeper voice that goes straight to Lance’s core, he says, “Come here, please.”

Lance catches his breath and pushes away from the door.

“I have a job for you,” Shiro says as Lance rounds the desk. He turns his chair, gesturing to his lap where his uniform pants now sit open and his soft cock rests on his thigh, bared by the the jacket hem that’s been tucked up out of the way. Heat spikes through Lance at the sight. How can a cock be so  _ pretty? _ Fuck, he wants it, wants it anywhere Shiro will give it to him.

Shiro fixes him with a knowing look. “I need you to keep this warm while I finish going over these forms. Think you can do that for me?”

“Absolutely. God, yes, I’d love to.” Lance drops immediately to the floor at his feet. This is what he needs: to be useful, to not have to think. He feels unstrung already. He leans forward, hands coming up to Shiro’s knees for balance as he lowers his mouth toward Shiro’s cock.

Two fingers curl under his chin before he gets there, tipping his head up.

“Mmm, not that you don't look wonderful on your knees,” Shiro says, lips curving in a tiny smile, “but I had a different idea.”

Wide-eyed, Lance stares up at Shiro. He  _ likes _ having Shiro in his mouth, likes holding him on his tongue, likes pouring himself into Shiro’s lap for an hour or two and drifting with his lips around Shiro’s cock, soft or hard or somewhere in between, while Shiro pets his hair. But apparently they’re not doing that?

The fingers curl harder, digging under his jaw and guiding him to his feet. He doesn’t let himself question it no matter how much he wants to, just follows Shiro’s hand.

“Good,” Shiro says once Lance is standing. “Now strip.”

Lance shudders and his hands fly to the fastening at his uniform jacket’s shoulder, but then he pauses. “All of—”

“All of it. And no talking, or this ends.” It’s not an idle threat, Lance knows; Shiro’s done it before, banished him back to his quarters and left them both unsatisfied when Lance broke the evening’s rules, which is an outcome he’d really like to avoid tonight. But he likes their games, and he trusts Shiro to take care of him in all the ways he needs. All the ways they both need.

It took a while for Lance to work it out, but one of the best ways to take care of Shiro is to let Shiro take care of  _ him. _

Sealing his lips together, Lance shrugs out of his uniform jacket, pulls off his boots, unfastens his belt, tugs his undershirt over his head. He doesn’t try to make it sexy; Shiro seems more interested in speed than a show. He’s about to drop the shirt on his boots when Shiro says, “Folded, Lance. On the floor next to the desk.”

Lance nods and adjusts, sliding his boots to the designated spot, folding his shirt and jacket in a neat stack on top, then shucking pants and boxers and folding them, too. Socks go last, set atop the stack, and that earns him a pleased smile and a soft, “Very nice,” that makes his pulse trip over itself. He stands at Shiro’s knee, absolutely naked in the chill of the room, and waits.

Shiro’s gaze slides over him like a physical caress. The weight of it makes his cock twitch.

“Turn around,” Shiro murmurs, and as soon as Lance’s back is to him, that big prosthetic hand settles between Lance’s shoulder blades and bends him face down on the desk.

_ Oh fuck yes. _

Lance bites his lip to stifle a moan (moans count as talking, Lance knows, and he  _ really _ doesn’t want Shiro to send him away), but he can’t help the shocked, needy way his breath hisses out. A booted foot nudges the inside of his ankles, one and then the other, urging his legs wider, lowering his stance until his hips are supported by the edge of the desk and he’s spread open to Shiro’s gaze. He arches a little, presenting.

“Hand out.” Shiro’s voice has dropped even lower.

It takes a moment to process the order, but then Lance hears the click of a cap and he shoots his hand back, palm up by his hip, fingers cupped to catch the lube Shiro pours onto them. 

“Stretch yourself open for me.”

Heat pools in Lance’s gut at that tone. So commanding. So  _ hot. _ Incredible, that he can have that effect on Shiro.

He curls back and smears the handful of lube over his hole, slick and messy, then drives one finger in straight up to the second knuckle. Behind him, Shiro makes an involuntary little noise. Pleased, Lance draws his finger back out only to replace it with two in an easy, warm stretch. He pumps them a couple times, spreading them slightly, slicking lube all around his hole inside and out, then pulls back to try for three.

Shiro clears his throat and Lance freezes.

“…I didn’t say to stop,” Shiro says, voice gravelly, and  _ oh. _ That was a good throat-clearing. Lance nudges the third finger in slowly, consciously trying to relax the muscle to allow the intrusion. The stretch is good, a sweet burn in the best of ways, but he’s got slim fingers and Shiro’s cock is thick. He wants to be ready. Shiro doesn’t like hurting him, not like that.

There’s another click of a cap, another small, wet sound; when Lance peeks over his shoulder, he can see that Shiro’s wrapped his left hand around his own hardening cock, jacking languidly and smearing lube all along the length. The sight makes Lance’s breath stutter with need. He shoves his fingers deeper, desperate to have that cock  _ in him _ already. Before he knows it, he’s panting into the desk, his own length hard and heavy between his legs, working three fingers inside himself all the way to the base, spreading his hole open for Shiro to see.

Shiro isn’t watching, though; he’s picked up his data pad again and is looking over something with tiny print. His hand is still gliding slowly along his cock.

Lance tries not to whine. No talking, no noises, or this will all stop. He turns his face back down to the desk, bites his lips closed, and forces his fingers wide, working at his rim, pleasure shooting through him as he tries to get loose enough to fit that fourth finger. Maybe Shiro will pay attention to him then.

Suddenly there’s another touch at his hole. Lance jolts and looks over. Shiro is still staring at his pad, but there’s a flush high on his cheeks.

Lance’s whole body goes lax at Shiro’s exploratory touch. One soft fingertip traces around where Lance is stretched on his own fingers, slipping easily with the excess of lube, sending shivers up and down Lance’s spine. The finger presses, testing the give of his hole, and then slides tightly inside with a slick noise. Lance forces himself silent despite the moan that wants to break from him, breathing harshly through his nose.

“Good work,” Shiro murmurs, pulling his finger free. His metal hand settles on Lance’s hip, heavy, possessive. “I think you’re ready for me. Come here.”

Lance bites back another whine, but slips his own fingers out of his hole — empty, fuck, so empty, but not for long — and lets himself be guided backward. Just that one hand on him could easily pick him up entirely, but now it drags him back so his chest slides on the desk and positions his hips over Shiro’s lap. His spine feels loose, his limbs weak; it’s a struggle not to collapse down onto Shiro, but that hand is still locked on his hip and he’s not going to do anything to dislodge it.

He’s just… so  _ empty. _ He  _ wants. _

The thick head of Shiro’s cock nudges between his cheeks, and then he’s being guided down onto it inch by slow inch, held up by that hand, forced to feel every dragging second as Shiro pushes into him. It’s so much, so thick, hot and hard and splitting him open excruciatingly slowly. He has to hold his breath to keep from moaning; he digs his nails into his thighs in desperation, needing something to ground him as he’s splayed wide on Shiro’s lap and stretched around his cock.

“Mmm, so pretty,” Shiro says, “all bare and spread out like this, taking my cock so well. You feel so good, Lance, so hot inside.”

Two shaking breaths through his nose, harsh and heavy, because fuck, Shiro knows exactly how to ruin him, and then he has to hold his breath again so he doesn’t start begging.

Finally, after moments that could have been hours while Shiro's cock pushes deeper and deeper, he feels the fabric of Shiro’s uniform pants under his naked thighs. Shiro pulls him down tight, forcing the last of his length inside, and Lance chokes on his held breath with an overwhelmed noise he can’t quite stifle as Shiro’s cock angles just right inside him. His hole spasms; tears spring to his eyes and he gulps in air.

“Shh, that’s it,” Shiro says, leaning over him to murmur sweetly right in his ear. “This is what you needed, isn’t it? Something to fill you up? Don’t move, just stay right here and keep my cock warm while I finish this paperwork. Can you do that for me?”

Lance nods frantically.

“Do you need something in your mouth, too?”

Another nod. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“There you go,” Shiro says as his thick metal fingers brush Lance’s lips. Eagerly, Lance opens his mouth, letting them slide over his tongue, then closes his lips around the wide knuckles and sucks. His tongue works under the pads of the fingers. Shiro groans, his cock twitching inside Lance’s ass, and Lance squeezes down around him, hips jumping in reaction. The heavy prosthetic levers Lance up and clutches him tight to Shiro’s chest; Lance’s head falls back to his broad shoulder, neck gone limp.

Fuck, Shiro’s still wearing his uniform, still dressed and ready for inspection except for his pants hanging open and his cock sheathed inside Lance’s body. The very idea makes Lance squirm, somewhere between embarrassed and extremely turned on. He can feel the seams of the jacket's detailing dragging on his naked back, the bite of a metal zipper under his ass where Shiro’s pants are folded open.

Those thick fingers fill up his mouth, held snug between his lips. Lance sucks harder.

“God,  _ Lance,” _ Shiro moans. Lance lets out a shuddering breath and clenches around Shiro’s cock, trying to get it deeper. Shiro’s other arm snakes over Lance’s hips, the sleeve just barely grazing his cock, to pin him in place. “You are—  _ mmm, _ no, no, I still have work to do. Hold still.”

But Shiro’s length inside him is lighting up every oversensitive nerve and Lance can’t help himself; he rolls his hips and tongues over Shiro’s fingers. He wants more, always more. Greedy.

“Lance,  _ stop.” _

The steel in that voice makes Lance freeze. All his muscles tense, his tongue still woven between two metal knuckles.

“You’re not supposed to be distracting me,” Shiro growls. For one blistering moment, his fingers shove their way deeper into Lance’s mouth, force his jaw wide, press right to the edge of too deep. More tears well up, reflexive, lingering even when Shiro’s grip slackens. “Stay  _ still. _ Can you do that or do we need to stop?”

Watering eyes wide, Lance stares at Shiro, his whole body throbbing with arousal. He can be good, he doesn’t want to stop, he’ll be still, he’ll— but he can’t speak to tell Shiro that or it will all be over anyway. Slowly, carefully, he removes his tongue from between Shiro’s fingers and relaxes his mouth, then sets his hands on his own thighs where they’re spread wide over Shiro’s lap, trying to project an air of obedience.

Shiro watches him for a long moment, long enough that Lance starts to tense up again, but then he blows out a breath and nods once, slowly. “Better.” He tilts his face into Lance's neck, exhaling hot on the skin there, then nips at the juncture between neck and naked shoulder.

Lance shudders, trying not to move, though he can't help the way his walls spasm around the cock inside him. In his mouth, Shiro's fingers pull back a little more and stroke over his tongue again.

“I need to finish going over these reports,” Shiro says softly, his lips brushing just below Lance's ear. _ “You _ need to stay still and quiet, and keep my cock warm for me. No moving, all right?” Lance nods, and Shiro makes a low, pleased sound. “I'll keep you stuffed full like you want, and if you're good, I'll fuck you properly after I'm done.”

Then those warm lips retreat.

Lance breathes, slow and shaky, as desire shoots through him. He can do this. He _ wants _ to do this, wants to be good for Shiro, as difficult as it is not to move. He holds himself as still as he can while Shiro's hand nudges his head back, sliding fingers through his lips, and that heavy forearm presses against his sternum. He’s utterly helpless in Shiro's grip now, his chin tipped back until all he can see is the ceiling, naked body pinned sweetly against Shiro's clothed one, legs spread wide over Shiro's lap with tears drying on his cheeks and fingers in his mouth and a cock buried deep in his ass.

It's paradise, even if he's not allowed to move.

Shiro picks up his pad in his other hand and resumes reading.

_ Keep my cock warm for me. _ Lance focuses on those words, repeating them in his mind, trying to count seconds to distract himself from the overwhelming feeling of Shiro wedging him open at both ends.

He loses count quickly, though, his focus going haywire when Shiro's fingers pump absently through his lips. He has to fight down the urge to suck on them, to buck in Shiro's lap, but he's going to be _ good. _ Shiro asked him to.

The first few minutes are the worst. Lance can't bite his lip because Shiro's fingers are in the way, and he can't squirm and clench like his body is begging to do. He can't do anything but sit here, naked and spread out on Shiro's lap at his work desk.  _ Fuck. _ Shiro's fingers keep moving in a lazy, stop-start rhythm that’s impossible to predict, and every now and then his cock shifts a tiny bit inside Lance’s hole, and it’s all making Lance’s head spin.

Gradually, though, his body relaxes in spite of the way he feels all twisted up inside. He slumps further into Shiro’s chest, head lolling on a broad shoulder, and mouths gently at Shiro’s fingers — not enough to be distracting, hopefully, but enough to keep himself occupied, enough to stifle the needy noises he wants to make.

Without stimulation, Shiro’s cock starts to soften a bit, but the tight grip of Lance’s body keeps it in place and halfway hard, no matter how little attention Shiro seems to be paying. When Lance rolls his head slowly, he can see the edge of Shiro’s cheek, still flushed, and the focus in his gaze as he reads. Occasionally, he shuffles things around on his desk and the arm holding Lance up tightens its grip.

Lance pushes his hips back a little when he feels himself starting to slide down Shiro's lap, reseating himself, and lets time wash away in the electric ache of having Shiro buried so deep inside him.

It’s impossible to tell how long it’s been, his eyes closed and mind gone all floaty — half an hour? An hour? Who knows, who cares, everything is quiet and hazed out beyond the gentle weight of Shiro’s fingers on his tongue and the perfect angle of that thick cock stuffing him full and the limp fall of his arms at his sides, how Shiro’s body heat through the layers of fabric between them keeps his naked skin just warm enough — but he jolts when Shiro moves under him.

Shiro doesn’t acknowledge Lance’s gasp, still staring intently at whatever he has up on his pad now. Lance settles once more, but he’s  _ aware _ now, back down from the ceiling to inhabit his own body again. Maybe Shiro was just shifting around, maybe his legs were falling asleep or something.

Another shift. No, a  _ thrust. _ One hundred percent intentional. Shiro's messing with him.

Lance presses his ass down into Shiro’s lap, not moving not moving  _ not moving, _ just trying to keep his seat. That’s all. Shiro goes still once more, never looking away from his pad, and Lance tries to relax, despite the way Shiro’s cock is swelling back to full hardness inside him.

Right when Lance is finally regaining his equilibrium, Shiro does it again, one sharp thrust into Lance’s ass, and  _ fuck— _

Lance arches, spine taut, and sucks in a hissing breath around the fingers in his mouth.

Shiro ignores him except to push those fingers a little deeper.

A long pause, and then another thrust puts a deeper arch in Lance’s back. Then it’s a filthy grind that works Shiro’s cock deep and makes Lance twist helplessly until he’s only supported by his hips planted in Shiro’s lap and the back of his head braced on Shiro’s shoulder. He’s trying, fuck, he’s trying  _ so hard _ not to move but Shiro is making it impossible, and a thin whine escapes his throat for a moment before he can choke it back.

Shiro’s palm cups his chin. “Shh, quiet,” he murmurs, gentle tone at odds with the sweet torture of his teasing. “I’m concentrating.”

He presses a kiss to Lance’s cheek and turns back to his pad. The stillness holds for long moments while Lance catches his breath and tries to bleed the tension out of his joints.

Without even a hint of warning, Shiro bucks in again. Lance manages to turn his whimper into a voiceless hiss, but his legs clench around Shiro’s thighs and his toes curl on the utilitarian carpet as that thick cock drags inside him. Only by digging his fingers into his own legs can he keep his arms from moving. His cock throbs, but his legs are spread wide and there’s no way he can get any friction to relieve it.

Shiro holds him firmly in place, his arm pressing in from Lance’s jaw down to his diaphragm. “Good,” he says, making Lance shiver. “Very good. You’re doing so well, Lance. Just hang on a little longer; I’m almost done here.”

Lance nods deliriously.

With feigned indifference, Shiro turns back to his reports.

And that’s how it goes as Lance’s awareness turns fuzzy again: Shiro, flushed, reading on his pad (or at least pretending to read) with his cock buried in Lance’s ass, holding motionless until he suddenly moves inside him to to some drunken metronome’s rhythm, uneven and dizzying, until Lance is arching uncontrollably, shaking, sucking back every desperate noise and heaving air through his nose, accidentally biting Shiro’s metal fingers in his struggle to hold still. His legs tense around Shiro’s; he’s being driven slowly mad by the scrape of fabric on his naked skin and the scattershot way Shiro thrusts into him, the grazes across his prostate that could be accidental but absolutely aren’t.

He squeezes his hands around his own thighs, clawing, desperate to keep from moving too much but needing to hang onto something as his entire being wrings down on Shiro’s cock. Tight, hungry. Every unpredictable thrust propels him higher, makes his breath stutter in his lungs.

He needs— he  _ needs— _

The clatter of a pad being dropped to a hard surface filters into his hearing and then Shiro is shoving deeper, harder, pulling his fingers free of Lance’s mouth to seize his shoulder, other arm grabbing him around the waist and wrenching him down so the next three drives of his cock hit exactly right. His mouth burns on Lance’s straining neck.

“So good, Lance,” he gasps, “god, you can let go now. I’m finished. Let me hear you.”

Lance  _ wails. _ Shiro’s cock rams into him, again, again, a sudden, fierce, overwhelming rhythm that has him bouncing in Shiro’s lap, grappling for purchase on the arms keeping him in place.

“Shiro,” he pants, “more, please, more more more—  _ ah!” _

Each powerful thrust makes Lance’s breath hitch and his walls spasm, makes his thighs tense so hard they’re threatening to cramp, and god, he loves how Shiro fucks him when he finally loses control. He gets a hand around the back of Shiro’s neck, hanging on tight, all his moans broken into pieces by the pounding Shiro’s giving him.

Gasping breaths fall hot on the side of his neck as Shiro groans his name, yanking him down as his hips buck wildly, slamming his cock home — deep, fuck, so deep Lance can feel it all through him, resounding in his bones, tangling up all the wrenching, ragged need inside him. He sobs his pleasure, loud over the sound of Shiro’s low cursing. He’s going to break apart, going to twist up into knots in Shiro’s lap, wound so tight that he shatters.

Shiro clutches him close with both arms, driving into his ass; Lance writhes, legs pulling up, and it changes Shiro’s angle so every thrust hits his prostate, rubs his own cock on his thighs with just enough friction, and then he really is breaking apart.

He cries out his release as Shiro fucks him, coming in thick spurts and ruining Shiro’s uniform pants.

“Lance, fuck,  _ Lance—” _

Then Shiro is coming, too, filling him up hot and wet and messy, shoving as deep as he can get while Lance clenches around him, his cock pulsing and twitching as he empties himself.

Lance moans, body zinging with aftershocks and still grinding down.

Greedy, greedy. He wants it all.

Shiro keeps his arms locked around Lance’s middle as his hips stutter and finally go still.  _ “Fuck,” _ he groans, with feeling.

“Uh huh,” Lance agrees faintly.

It takes a bit for his muscles to unclench in the aftermath, for him to stop squirming and just enjoy the sensation of Shiro’s cock plugging all that come in his ass. His abused hole twitches with little shocks of pleasure-pain around Shiro’s girth, tender and oversensitive.

After a moment, there’s a thump on his shoulder — Shiro, dropping his head in exhaustion. His hair tickles, but Lance isn’t going to complain, because he’s also laying a chain of slow, sloppy kisses along the edge of his shoulder. Lance hums happily and drops his head back so they’re both leaning on each other, strokes his hands along Shiro’s forearms, metal and fabric-covered flesh, then hugs them closer and turns his head to nuzzle at Shiro’s cheek.

He’s happy and sweaty and wrung out. He wants kisses. He wants  _ all _ the kisses.

Shiro follows the line of his neck up to his jaw, to his mouth, and then their lips meet, indolent and sated. Lance opens his mouth, licks into Shiro’s, brushes their tongues together lazily; Shiro makes a pleased noise low in his throat, so Lance does it again.

Eventually, though, the kiss breaks and Shiro drops his head back to Lance’s shoulder. His arms squeeze tight.

“Mmm. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“You, too,” Lance says. “Uh, sorry about your pants. Hopefully no one’s out in the corridors this late.”

Shiro leaves one more kiss on Lance’s skin, then lifts him off his softening cock. Lance hisses, missing it already, but yeah, he’s definitely going to be feeling this tomorrow.

They take their time getting presentable, Lance trying to scrub the come off Shiro’s pants with his own sacrificed undershirt, Shiro using Lance’s wadded-up boxers to catch the worst of the mess he left between his legs and helping him re-dress commando. He straightens Lance’s collar for him, finger combs the tangles from his hair, and Lance returns the gesture. They both tacitly ignore the come spots, both old and new, soaked into the carpet; those are a lost cause at this point. The cleaning staff probably have questions.

Like a gentleman, Shiro walks Lance back to his room. Like a rogue, Lance doesn’t let him leave.

“Lance, I need to get to bed.”

That’s a lie; if Lance lets him go, he’s going to go back to his room and do more paperwork, or do five hundred pushups while staring into space, or something. They all know that Shiro doesn’t sleep well when left on his own — better than he used to, but Lance doesn’t like seeing any exhaustion in his eyes at all. So he’ll use whatever trick he can to get Shiro to stay somewhere he’ll be more likely to get a full night’s sleep.

He screwed this up before, back with the clone; couldn’t help the way Shiro needed him to. He doesn’t want to make that mistake again.

“There’s a bed here that you’re welcome to share,” he says. “Very comfy. Garrison’s finest.” Shiro gives an incredulous snort, and Lance laughs. “Well, comfier with me in it. Come on, Shiro, indulge me. You put your cock in my ass and then told me not to move for like an hour; now I need cuddles.”

Shiro colors. “It wasn’t an hour. And you liked it.”

“I did! I really liked it, and so did you. Still need cuddles.”

“You aren’t fooling anyone,” Shiro says, but he’s smiling.

“Do I need to? Are you coming to bed or not?”

“Okay, okay. But for the record, I know you’re manipulating me.”

Lance grins. “You like it.”

Shiro drapes his arm around Lance’s shoulders and buries a matching smile in his hair. “Yeah, I think I do.”


End file.
